


Sorry.

by IvyMcAllister



Category: Black Books
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Ending, Angst and Humor, Community: hc_bingo, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Fix-It, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyMcAllister/pseuds/IvyMcAllister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows the events of the episode "Manny, Come Home" up until Fran leaves the shop.  Manny flails and Bernard's barely conscious, but both of them manage to realize a few things along the way.  It's just possible that Manny might have been working in the right bookshop all along....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the hc_bingo community on LiveJournal: http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile. This story contains SPOILERS for S3, Ep 1 of Black Books--"Manny, Come Home." The dialogue in the first half or so is taken directly from the episode, but since this is an Alternate Ending/Fix-It, the remaining dialogue (once Fran has left the shop) is my own. The descriptive text is my take on what was going on in the guys' heads at the time, and is almost certainly not what the writers intended. (Somehow, I seriously doubt that Manny licking *anyone* with other than humorous intent was the very last thing on the writers' minds.)

The door to the shop flew open and Manny scurried inside. He didn’t care what he had to say or what awfulness Bernard would, doubtless, subject him to—he couldn’t let Evan murder his hair. 

“Bernard! I’m sorry!” he called out. It was my fault you toasted my hand!”

Silence. 

“Will you take me back? Please?”

Manny walked toward the desk, observing the mess and looking for any sign that Bernard had become part of it. His desperation was palpable. If Bernard rejected him now, he’d have to go back there—back to Goliath Books, and Duty-to-Do cards—and sacrifice his second-most-favourite bit of himself to creepy Evan and his electric trimmer. 

He pushed aside the curtain at the back of the shop, calling out once more. 

“Bernard…? Where are you? Bernard!”

“Manny…”

When he heard the raspy sound of Bernard’s voice behind him, Manny turned around slowly—almost warily. He started to make his way cautiously toward the alcove where it seemed that Bernard’s voice had come from, and the sight that met his eyes made him stop in his tracks, staring. 

Bernard looked truly awful, even for him. He was lying on his side, his ever-present wineglass and cigarette clutched in shaky hands. 

This was relatively normal. 

The really disturbing thing was that Bernard seemed to be balancing precariously on a pile of books, weight on his right hip like a crusty, black-jacketed see-saw.

“Manny, I don’t feel that… well. I feel.. like I’ve been… beaten up… underwater. I can feel a bit of my brain falling away like a wet cake. Would you help me?”

That last was delivered in the softest, most plaintive tone Manny had ever heard from his gruff, acerbic friend, and it tugged at his heart. His own plight forgotten, Manny scooted to Bernard’s side. 

“I will, Bernard--I will.” 

Wrapping his arms around the thin, sweat-soaked body, Manny helped Bernard to his feet and started to half-carry him to his chair. He heard the shop door open, heard Fran talking about moving somewhere-or-other, but he didn’t care—he only cared that Bernard needed him. Really needed him, this time. Not to polish a walrus, or re-price everything in the shop with his nose, either. Bernard had asked for his help. 

His. 

Manny’s. 

And as deeply as it hurt him to see Bernard suffering, there was a guilty little core of pleasure that reveled in the contact. Bernard wasn’t pulling away or swatting at him or stapling him to anything—they were touching, and it wasn’t because Bernard wanted to hurt him. Amazing. 

Fran was still yammering, but Manny had no time for it. “Yeah, well, just give us a hand, would you?” 

To her credit, Fran didn’t hesitate to toss her bag on the floor, take Bernard’s left arm and assist Manny in maneuvering the weakened man to his chair.

“I was going to, you know,” she said peevishly. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Manny practically ignored her and concentrated on settling Bernard as comfortably as possible. 

“Hang in there, Bernard,” he encouraged his incoherent ex-employer. 

God, Bernard really did look horribly unwell. Manny found himself slipping into panic-mode, complete with utterly ineffectual hand-waving.

“Fran, get some hot towels and some fluffy water!” 

She dashed off into the back of the shop to comply just as Evan burst through the front door, electric clippers raised for action. 

“Manny!” he bellowed. “Come here.”

Manny’s panic was now profound. He didn’t have it in him to stand up to Evan. Hell, he rarely stood up to *anyone*. Instinct kicked in, and he appealed to the one person he looked to for security. 

“Bernard, he wants my hair!” 

Manny moved closer to Bernard, sidling behind a clueless Fran who had just returned from the back.

Bernard’s eyes had opened when Evan had burst into the shop, and now he watched Manny trying rather pathetically to hide. His synapses were misfiring wildly and his brain did, indeed, feel like wet cake, but one thing had gotten through to him. 

Manny needed him. 

After all the abuse—all the toasting and slapping and humiliation--to which he’d subjected Manny on a daily basis, Manny had come back. He’d come back, and apologized for things that *Bernard himself* had done. Manny had also helped him to stand up, which was no small feat, *and* he’d sat him in his chair. 

And through it all, as miserable as Bernard felt, he’d been aware that Manny’s arms around him had felt good. Better than anything that Bernard had felt in years. Better than the booze and the cigs and the bitterness that had, until a few moments ago, been all-consuming. 

And now Evan—the little pastel-shirted weasel—was threatening Manny. In Bernard’s own shop. 

In Bernard’s *home.* 

And here, Bernard’s conscience gave a syphilitic wheeze as it struggled with the alcohol soaking his system like brandy on a fruitcake. 

Bernard’s home... was *Manny’s* home.

Something else was begging to be extrapolated from that chain of thought, but it was too much for Bernard to care about. 

With the last bit of anger-fueled energy he could muster, Bernard pushed himself to his feet and began to make his wobbly way toward Evan. 

“How dare you. Don’t you touch a *hair* on that boy’s head.” Finally face to face with Evan, Bernard used the table of books to his right to steady himself. “Have you no respect? He’s mine! Get your own human… plaything. You quartz-brained little cream-puff.” 

Evan managed to dodge the clumsy roundhouse punch that Bernard threw at him, watching in disgust as Bernard overbalanced and landed in a heap on the floor. 

“Okay, well I tried!” Evan spat as Manny and Fran ran to Bernard’s side. “There’s obviously no point out-reaching to people like you. Manny, in two years, you could have been vice-deputy-sub-assistant. But you’re not.” He waved the clippers to emphasize his point. “You’re here, shuffling around on the floor like the worm you are!” 

Manny was listening to Evan’s tirade, but he wasn’t really hearing it. He knew that Evan was giving up on him—and his hair—but he was more aware of the warm feeling in his chest. Bernard was warm, too, where Bernard’s back was pressed against his legs as he and Fran knelt on the floor supporting him. Bernard’s clothes were damp, though, and Manny could feel him trembling slightly although he couldn’t tell if it was from anger, exhaustion, illness, or all three. 

Evan’s door-rattling exit was largely ignored by both Fran and Manny as they struggled to get Bernard back in his chair. Once settled, he seemed to come back to himself, if only briefly.

“Manny, I’m so sorry you had to go through that... abuse.” Bernard slurred, sounding as if he were still quite drunk. 

Which was, Manny believed, not entirely impossible. Given the amounts of alcohol that the man regularly consumed, it should take months (or weeks of dialysis) for his system to even begin to be free of the stuff. Manny imagined that licking the sweat from Bernard’s skin would reveal the liquid to be around 100 proof. 

This lead, inevitably, to thoughts of licking Bernard for no reason at all and in a variety of rather interesting places, which made Manny’s very beard burn with embarrassment. In an effort to shut down that bit of his rebellious--and no doubt suicidal--brain, Manny busied himself by going into the kitchen and finding the least grubby cloth with which to wipe the alcohol-infused sweat from the human distillery currently slumped in Bernard’s chair.

Fran continued to fuss over Bernard for a bit before racing clumsily from the shop while ranting semi-coherently about being late for a date with a chartered accountant from Bristol who had a glass eye and no toenails and was, therefore, very desirable because he would never leave toenail clippings on the arms of the sofa or under the duvet.

Manny heard the door slam behind her, but that was all. His entire attention was now focussed on Bernard. Realizing that there was no way in hell that Bernard’s present condition was conducive to book-selling, Manny darted over to the door and flipped the dual-sided sign to read “Closed,” only belatedly remembering that it *already* said “Closed,” seeing as it read the same on both sides. 

Dismissing the sign and locking the door behind him, Manny scurried back to Bernard and hesitated only briefly before raising the slightly grungy, damp cloth he’d been clutching and making a tentative dab at the sweat on Bernard’s left cheek.

This was apparently enough to get the other man’s admittedly bleary attention. Their eyes met for only a moment during which Bernard mumbled something incoherent about Little Bo Peep needing to stay away from cliffsides, and Scotsmen, and probably both. 

Manny was confused, of course, but he took it in stride and continued his gentle, hesitant ministrations, wiping the sweat from Bernard’s skin with excessive care.

After a few moments, Bernard seemed to come to his senses again. He lifted his head like it was heavier than lead, making Manny think of a newly hatched bird, but Manny said nothing, deciding to allow Bernard to arrive at consciousness (or not) at his own booze-addled pace.

“Manny...” Bernard rasped softly. “Manny... Come here. Come here and... and let me *look* at you.” Bernard’s pupils were pinpricks, his eyes didn’t seem to want to focus on anything, let alone the man who was already right in front of him--probably closer than they’d ever been before.

“I’m already here, Bernard.” Manny patted Bernard’s cheek gently, hoping that it would draw his wavering attention and wake him up a little. “What do you need, Bernard? Tell me. I know! I can get you a sandwich! A... a *ham* sandwich! With a pickle! You like those, eh? Well, not to worry, Bernard. Manny’s on the job again, yes siree. I’ll just pop out and ge----”

Manny’s nervous rambling was cut off by the simple warmth of Bernard’s hand on his forearm, stilling his frantic babbling and having the very effect on Manny that he’d hoped to have on Bernard moments before. Manny’s eyes were now locked with Bernard’s bleary ones, but there was a spark in Bernard’s eyes now--an awareness of his surroundings and their proximity--that hadn’t been there a moment ago. 

Bernard drew a shaky, phlegmy breath and let it out in a rattling sigh that turned into a coughing fit. Manny leaped into action, patting Bernard’s back until it passed, only returning to his place at Bernard’s feet when he was sure it was alright.

They avoided looking at one another this time, but Manny knew that *something* was different, and that something was most likely Bernard. He also knew that if he didn’t act, that moment they’d shared--that spark he’d seen in Bernard’s eyes--might be lost to him. Lost to both of them. 

The very thought was more than Manny’s already overwhelmed brain could cope with. Not knowing what else to do, he threw his arms around his former boss and pressed his face against the man’s shoulder. His muffled voice wasn’t lost on Bernard, though, and his expression became more and more downcast as Manny babbled on. “I’m sorry, Bernard. I’m sorry I left you to suffer like this. I really, really am. If you could just see your way fit to forgive me, I’ll make it up to you, I swear I will. I’ll polish your walruses, and squeeze the toothpaste from the middle and I’ll leave the jammy toast on the ceiling where you put it, and...”

Bernard’s hand settling against the back of Manny’s head silenced him once again. It was surprisingly gentle, the weight of it, and Bernard surprised him yet again with a series of tiny, awkward strokes of Manny’s beloved hair. 

“I’m... I’m sorry too, Manny. I’m a... a horrible person. I don’t deserve you, you know. I... don’t deserve you.” Bernard spoke with a sadness and resignation that cut through Manny’s heart like a hot knife through butter. The hand in his hair, the warmth of Bernard’s body against his own, the smell of musty books and cigarettes and booze felt more like home to Manny than any he’d ever known. 

And Bernard was apologizing to him. To HIM. It was almost too much for him on that day of all days, and he realized that his eyes were tearing up and his throat was starting to tighten and he knew it was only a matter of minutes before he was going to be sniffling away in Bernard’s arms if he didn’t get himself out of there right, right now, and--

“It’s... alright. Manny, it’s alright. Really. I don’t mind. I don’t mind, at all. Do... do what you need to. What you have to.” Bernard’s hand on the back of his head pressed him just that little bit closer. “I’m not going anywhere.” He paused, then, and for Manny, time stopped with him as he waited for Bernard to continue. “I’m not going anywhere,” Bernard said, more emphatically, this time. “And you’re not going anywhere.” It came out as more curious than confident, and when Manny let out the breath he’d been holding, it came out as a sob. 

“No, Bernard,” Manny assured him. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll never run away again.” His voice was still muffled against Bernard’s shoulder, but he continued anyway. “I promise. Because.... Because I... I care about you.”

He pressed his face more tightly against Bernard then, still sniffling and expecting the worst, but Bernard only sighed softly and continued petting his hair with those short, awkward strokes. 

“It’s alright, Manny,” he said quietly, letting his lips rest, briefly, against Manny’s left temple. “I like you, too.”


End file.
